


Swordplay

by Doitsuki



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Awkward Boners, Awkwardness, Bullshittery, Canon - Video Game, Games, Hand & Finger Kink, Humour, Inanimate Object Porn, Other, Video Game Mechanics, Wrath of the Lich King, er - Freeform, i backed out of writing that lmao, idk how to tag this lmao, it doesnt get nsfw, kekksie meta writing business, nobody's gettin off YET, sword kink, undead boner in the bonezone cmon where dem skeletons at, weapon kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 22:55:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7457050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lich King fiddles around with his blade while waiting for a new recruit to give some starter quests to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swordplay

**Author's Note:**

> set in the Death Knight starting zone (go roll a DK if you want to immerse yourself in the setting) lmao weird shit but The Lich King is cool and so is his blade so here is a parried swordgasm

It was another long, dreary day in the life of the Lich King, filled with the screams of unworthy initiates and cold spells crackling in the air. Standing atop the highest balcony of Acherus, he gazed out across the Plaguelands. With his own two eyes he could see far, to the disease-ridden fields full of Scarlet Crusaders and his own servants. Oh, he had many servants. The Ghouls, the Necromancers, the Death Knights… and of course his beloved blade, Frostmourne. He was loathe to admit his level of obsession with it, how much its hunger reflected his own and seemingly increased his desire for wanton slaughter. So, he said nothing and was at peace with his glowing runeblade. Here in Acherus he always had it close by, even going so far as to sleep beside it in his private chambers. Frostmourne had no will to harm him and he could easily run his finger along the blade’s sharp edges without losing said finger. Now as he spun the weapon around in one hand, feeling the weight of it from his hold on the hilt, he closed his eyes. There was a certain connection he had with the unnumbered souls trapped within Frostmourne. He saw his own ruthless cruelty reflected in the vast pooled energy all those deaths had brought to the blade, his own hand guiding them. When he held Frostmourne he felt powerful, without the baggage of memory or achievements responsible. All there was… was death. A smile came upon his face, so sweet to behold it could rot the teeth of both dead and living. He swung Frostmourne around, listening to the cold slice of air. Though he had no beating heart, his freezing internal core thrummed with vibrant energy. He leaned on the balcony railing, thrusting his sword into the floor so it would stay there. His fingers drifted from the hilt and brushed against the demonic ram skull, down to the runes engraved in the blade. It was frighteningly cold, just like him. The edges of the runes were nice and sharp, offering a sting to his fingers when he pushed in a little. Frostmourne’s inner blue glow fizzled with white sparks, and the Lich King eased his fingering of the blade. So attuned was he to the weapon, he could hear the blended shrieks of every single captured soul. Souls he had rent from living bodies with wrathful glee.

“Mnhh….” A deep, echoing sigh escaped his helm. While his armoured figure rested heavily against the balcony railing, his hands were free to do just about anything. He glanced to Frostmourne, the play of light over his strong fingers illuminating lifeless veins and pale skin. He reached a little lower, tracing the runes with the tip of his index finger as the glow of his eyes dimmed. His eyelids were drawn down by a languid, comfortable force. The Lich King found himself slipping into a trance, one of cold precision and familiar safety. Nothing could escape his control, nothing _at all_. In his armour he could not be harmed, and in the face of his blade all challenges were laughable. He groaned softly. Frostmourne was all he needed to augment his own magnificent strength. Nothing could separate him from his runeblade. He was convinced that this was the highest state of being anyone could possibly achieve, and let his focus on reality slip away. He was drawn back against his mighty will by the sound of a polite cough. The Lich King straightened up at once and whirled around, gripping Frostmourne by the hilt with rage in his eyes. There stood Highlord Darion Mograine, with a placid looking Death Knight by his side.

“My King…?”

“Speak!” The Lich King pointed his blade at Mograine’s throat. _‘How long has he been standing there…? Just as I was… about to… feel…’_

Mograine knew better than to make the Master of Death feel awkward and patted the new Death Knight on the head. “I have here a new, worthy recruit. As per your instructions, here he is, delivered for your briefing.”

“You could not have chosen a worse time.” The Lich King growled, his voice causing Mograine to shiver.

“My apologies.”

Cold blue eyes were cast down to the Death Knight. In comparison to himself and the Highlord, this calm undead blood elf was _tiny_. Less than half the Lich King’s size, he did not dare look up at his Master. Instead, he stared straight at the closest thing to his eye level. The Lich King’s spike-armoured crotch. Suddenly the Lich King found himself feeling something he never thought he would again, self-conscious to the degree of blushing. But he had no warm blood to heat his face, so a thin coating of frost formed over his cheeks. Highlord Mograine raised a fine eyebrow.

“My King, are you well? You are acting strange.”

“I’m just standing here, damn you!” The Lich King curled one massive hand into a solid fist. “Leave. I will deal with this one.”

“Er… as you wish.” Mograine turned and left, taking the pink portal down deeper into the Ebon Hold. Standing cooly before his Master, the Death Knight blinked. The Lich King didn’t feel much like giving his usual speech about anger and hatred, but he did grant the knight immortality. He watched over and protected all of his Death Knights, able to do so from the safety of Acherus. He rested both hands on the pommel of Frostmourne, inspecting his new knight.

“Your name?”

“Bonezone.”

Now it was the Lich King’s turn to raise an eyebrow, though it went unseen inside his helm.

“What kind of name is that?”

The Death Knight shrugged. “All the better ones were taken.”

A low, cynical laugh erupted from the Lich King’s frozen lips. “I suppose you can scream “ ** _ENTER THE BONEZONE_** ” when sending your enemies to the grave, eh?”

The Death Knight did not understand the reference and looked at his Master blankly. Frostmourne twirled on its tip as the Lich King began to feel awkward. It stopped soon after – there was no emotion to be shown before worthless little servants! No fidgeting was allowed either. The Lich King turned around, staring out into the Plaguelands once more. A golden exclamation mark appeared above his head.

**Author's Note:**

> Oceanic Server Khaz'Goroth has all your Bonezone needs. yes, i actually named my DK that.


End file.
